Coffee Isn't Nearly Enough (But He Likes to Pretend It Is)
by Aliada
Summary: Suffocated by a tiresome job, Kili struggles with inspiration. An unexpected message might just be what he needs, and much, much more (written for the WinterFRE2020).
1. Coffee Is Mostly Enough

_**A/N: **__Inspired by the following prompt: Met Online AU.__This chapter is a little 'sticky' messaging-wise, but it will become much more snappy later on. _

_Kili's POV_

Getting home after a long shift is the best thing that happened to him today. He's exhausted, barely able to maintain a standing position. His head aches in a familiar subtly pounding way, threatening to cover him under the blanket of apathy. Still, it makes no difference. He hates early nights, and there is but one remedy.

Slightly shaken, he makes it to the counter and fixes himself a cup of steaming coffee, barely escaping with his hand in one piece as the coffee pot tilts dangerously and spills a few drops of hot, boiling liquid. He likes his coffee black. What he doesn't like is when someone makes it for him. The drinking part is not enough. He has to make it himself. So he does, feeling his body involuntarily relax in response to predictable motions.

The first sip is scaldingly hot, but he's not satisfied. So he takes one more. And one more still. His mouth burns, and that burn seems to spread to his whole body. He is still tired, but it's no longer edgy. Now, he can control it. "The rest should do the trick," he thinks and drinks up the second half of the cup in quick, messy gulps. The sudden feeling of clarity is elevating, but he knows that it won't last long, so he prepares yet another fill and makes his way to his laptop. The intense warmth of the cup in his hand makes a striking contrast to the cold room, and he hurries to put it on the table before it can burn his fingers off.

The light from the laptop is enough to see his immediate surroundings, but he still switches on the lamp and adjusts it, only stopping when he's fully satisfied with the result. He's still not sure what to do with himself today, but there is way too much nervous energy building within him to just dismiss it.

Surfing the net usually helps, but he feels that today calls for something more.

Sometimes, he draws, sometimes he writers, but these days neither is easily done. His inspiration seems to have taken a back seat lately, and he's too impatient to just wait it out.

He checks his messenger, with no real hope to see anything. He hasn't posted new things in ages. His old chats had died out after a time, and his creative life is just a void of endless possibilities with no actual implementation. He feels empty.

For a moment, the feeling is too sharp, and he considers closing the laptop and going out for some fresh air and a drink. He's not a big believer in fate or a chance, but the +1 message that suddenly pops out leaves him shocked for a moment. He tries to guess the sender and realizes that he honestly has no idea who that might be. It's been at least three months before he had anything but dull conversations at work and occasional pub meetings that felt more like a joyless obligation rather than anything else. And three months is more than enough time to move onto something more interesting than 'no recent activity' sign of death.

Suddenly piqued, he takes a big gulp of coffee. It distracts him, but also adds to the strange nervousness bottling up within him. A big calming breath is barely calming, but it allows him to stop thinking for a moment and just press the icon.

_ hewhodespisesart: Don't mind the name, it's just a silly joke that bears no reflection on my opinion of you or your art. In fact, my opinion is the direct opposite of what that name suggests. Thus, the question: is there any new stuff coming up? I really need it for my mental well-being. If you ask why, it would be a very relevant and very serious question. People get these kinds of messages all the time, don't they? Mostly they think of them as flattery. Sometimes they just dismiss them. Sometimes, they allow themselves to feel flattered, only to feel bad when there are no similar comments to follow that one. So, why should you believe me? That's a valid question. But I have to be honest and tell you that I have no answer for that. You're probably thinking that I'm drunk and incapable of making sense, and I might just as well be. But the fourth sentence of this message remains true nevertheless. Also, would I be able to write with no typos if I was drunk? That's an interesting question to consider. Maybe it's a superpower? Anyway, take care and don't let non-inspiration bother you. And if you do, make it into something beautiful. You're probably thinking it's bold of me to use the imperative the first time round, but I have to disagree with you. It's not really an imperative, although it's worded as one. It's a statement of the fact. You make things beautiful. If it also sounds like flattery, I'm asking you to forgive me. If it doesn't… well, in this case you will have to congratulate me on the successfully completed task._

For a moment, it's quiet in Kili's head. There is no pounding, no rushing thoughts. Some part of his brain tries to explain it, but falls short. His ability to think is lost, and he can only feel.

Confusion, amusement, joy? They are all battling for dominance, but evidently have no trouble making a mess out of his nervous system. Coffee doesn't come anywhere close.

Still, he reaches for the cup and takes one more sip. His taste buds remain numb.

He doesn't want to think of it as a joke, and his instincts assure him that it's not one. It's not even the question of trust at this point, but rather of his inability not to trust.

His emotional side is jumping ahead, and he is powerless to reach it by anything resembling a conscious effort. Instead, he puts his fingers on the keyboard and stars typing, letting the sound claim his completely, leaving no room for anxiety.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Well, congratulations ARE in order, I guess. I'd say 'thank you', but it seems overly bland for this kind of message, so I will settle with this: to be honest with you, for a split second, I considered it a joke (which wasn't that unreasonable of me, you have to agree). Even if it IS in fact a joke, it was one that left me feeling good about myself, so cheers for that. If it wasn't, then I'm at an impasse. Once again, thanking you seems too impersonal, and you have to agree that your message is anything but. I can't offer no gratitude, either. So, I'm going to make you a promise._

He pauses and stares into the space. He's not sure where all that is coming from, but stopping is beyond his control at this point. One part of him wants to know what in that message is responsible for fueling the fire, whereas another part doesn't seem to care about anything apart from one thing: it's good to finally feel alive.

He doesn't specify the promise. Instead, he's offering his admirer to come up with one. The danger of it only serves to excite him further.

Waiting for the answer will be the worst thing, he realizes abruptly. At the same time, getting one could be a worse thing still, as he would likely get little to no sleep tonight.

He considers doing a reasonable thing: shutting his laptop and retiring for the night. But two cups of coffee he's just drunk are insistent in dissuading him from this idea. His head is light and clear, and he gets up to stretch himself a bit. The exercise alleviates the last shreds of tiredness and leaves him with a frankly ridiculous abundance of energy.

He draws for the next hour, so completely immersed in the task that a sound of the incoming message doesn't reach his ears right away. The clock hits 2 am, he startles and looks at the subtly illuminated screen. 'Two hours," he realizes. It feels like he's just emerged from under water, with no awareness of the fact that he's dived in the first place. His heartbeat is measured. Calm. If he didn't know better, he'd think he's been sedated with something.

When he opens the message, there is no nervousness or trepidation. He just treats like an ordinary act – one of the many acts to perform in the nearest future.

_ hewhodespisesart, First of all, I'm glad you didn't think I was drunk. It's very flattering, because I actually was. Drunk, that is. Sorry, in case you hate repetitions. And sorry in advance for anything that feels off. Unlike you, I have two styles of writing: sober and drunk, and the first one… well, you will see that for yourself, I guess. Also, thanks for not thanking me. For some reason, that made me happy. Then, I reached the last part of your message and was… confused, I guess? Do you want me to make my own promise? That sounds like fun, but I'm not sure what you mean._

The laughter suddenly bursting from Kili's lips is nothing short of violent. Logically speaking, he should experience something akin to cognitive dissonance, but he's too busy being amused. There are not plenty people who can make a shift from 'you make things beautiful' to 'I have two writing styles'. If anything, that could be a very satisfying way to spend the rest of the night.

Kili rids himself of the remains of his coffee and starts typing. The clock ticks off the seconds, silent and unnoticed.


	2. Coffee Is Hardly Enough

He wishes he could say that the rest of the night flew very quickly, but it's not the case. Instead, every bone in his body is filled with anticipation which stretches the seconds, and minutes, to unimaginable lengths.

They have been talking for 2+ hours now, and he realizes that it's his new drug. The keyboard feels like placid dough under his fingers. In fact, it's so ridiculously pliable that he considers scolding it for deceiving him all this time and making him think that his ability to type and simultaneously feel happy about it had dried out completely. Apparently, now he can rest assured it's not the case. Even though rest is as far from his mind as possible.

He thinks of making himself yet another cup of coffee but his body lodges a loud protest. He feels enough high as it is.

It'd all started with his apparently ill-advised suggestion to fulfill any promise thrown his way. What he didn't anticipate were the heights one's imagination could reach. And his newfound buddy definitely didn't lack in imagination.

* * *

Kili genuinely has no idea how to clarify the word 'promise' and the fact that _he_'s the one who is offering to fulfill one, not the other way around. He wonders if he should just repeat that sentence, in case if his buddy's 'drunk style of writing' hasn't yet left his system entirely, but that seems too boring. And, this night, Kili wants to be anything but.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Do you want to make your own promise? I think we could arrange that. How about something like 'sticking to your drunk writing style', at least for the night? In the last hour, you've made me smile more than I've been smiling for weeks, and I think that you should consider that a success, and a *hint*. What I actually meant, though, was me making a promise for you. A promise of your own hopefully-not-too-extreme choice. But take you pick :)_

The reply is almost instant and suspiciously detailed, which makes Kili wonder if he's just been toyed with. One doesn't just come up with a suggestion like this in… 5 seconds?

_ hewhodespisesart: Yes, you've discovered my secret: I was indeed drunk. And I'm a bit drunk still. If you want to determine the drunkenness of my messages, pay attention to their length. The longer they are, the drunker I am. I think they should turn it into a math formula or something. For future generations. Anyway, what could I ask of you? I'm torn between going for a question and a dare. What would be a safer choice? I think your first pick would be a question. But since we're online and I couldn't ask you to do anything really daring… hmm, this way question would probably be even more of a risk. In fact, I feel it's unfair to thrust this choice on you when I can't decide between the two myself. So my solution is for you to do both: question AND dare._

Kili feels his mouth opening of its own accord and refusing to close. "Someone clearly knows how to break rules," his mind supplies helpfully, and, by the look of things, this is to be his last rational thought for a while.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: As far as I remember, this game is called 'truth and dare', not 'question or dare'. But, to answer your non-existing question, yes, hit me with it – but not too hard :P_

_ hewhodespisesart: My version is called 'question or dare'. I don't need truth. I just need to hear you answer the question. The lack of question must have been a little bold of me, but then again, it was you who made the offer. And you didn't specify the number of things I'm allowed to ask for, did you?_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I didn't, but 'a promise' implies one thing the last time I checked._

_ hewhodespisesart: Uh-oh. Someone is competitive :)_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: See? You can't justify your reasoning. I will do it anyway, though, you don't have to worry._

_ hewhodespisesart: 'Promise' means 'saying you will do something and do it'. 'Something' isn't necessarily one thing._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I think you're sobering up nicely._

_ hewhodespisesart: Getting there :)_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: So? Do you want me to die from anticipation?_

The seconds click by, producing no answer, and Kili can feel his palms getting sweaty. It might potentially be an absolute mess, but the tickling somewhere in his chest area is surprisingly pleasant. He likes it. He likes the unknown. He likes being acutely aware of time as it trickles away in a rhythmic pattern that matches the beating of his heart. His likes his total disinterest in the abandoned half-filled coffee cup waiting dejectedly on the counter.

When first signs of annoyance begin to creep in, the answer finally comes. Leaving him interchangeably amused and confused with the slight dominance of the former.

_ hewhodespisesart: What do you think about collaboration?_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: What kind?_

Kili knows he's treading a slippery ground, but a smile on his face doesn't coincide with any concern he might have.

_ hewhodespisesart: Well, creative collaboration would be a nice start._

Kili expects something like that, but that fact doesn't make it any less exciting. His fingers find the keyboard and he makes a conscious effort to ignore a sudden and very much untimely feeling of bashfulness.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I don't know? I don't suppose I never had one. Need the right people for that kind of thing, don't you? :)_

When he hits 'send' , uncertainty settles on trepidation. He could easily lie. His so-called challenge didn't require honesty. But, for some reason, the mere thought of giving a different answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

_ hewhodespisesart: Did you just answer my question or had a chat with your nickname? :)_

Kili grins at the mirrored smiley face and realizes that his doubts are only too eager to melt away.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Both, I suppose :) Although you're the one to talk, considering YOUR nickname!_

_ hewhodespisesart: Mine doesn't match the reality. It used to, but not now. Does yours?_

For a second, he wants to reply with something snappy, but honesty feels too effortless to pretend that he's bothered by these questions.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: No, it stopped to, a short while ago._

He considers all the possible answers that could bring and realizes that a less confident part of him is reluctant to hear them. So he hurries to add yet another message.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: And what about the dare?_

The answer lingers and Kili catches himself tapping the table with his fingers. "It's fast, too fast," he thinks and yet at the same time, it cannot be fast enough. He craves the fastness, and yet wonders if he can bear it when it comes. Kili gives the thought an internal scoff and blinks at the screen. His eyes are beginning to hurt, but it's still not enough of a distraction to stop the anxiousness within him.

_ hewhodespisesart: Well, essentially, it kind of equals the question. But I won't push if you don't want to. If you don't want to, we can just… talk about something else. If you're up for that?_

Kili is half-afraid that his face will get stuck in a grin after that night. So, that 'question and dare' game was simply a low-key way to get a taste of his opinion before going ahead and offering the actual challenge. Why not ask for the truth, though? Wouldn't that be a logical thing to do?

Kili squeezes his temples in a futile, but suddenly urgent attempt to work out that reasoning, and, having come short, settles on a direct question.

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I could be :) But you have to answer this first: why not just ask me to tell the truth? Why that stuff with only caring about hearing my opinion? I could as well lie, couldn't I? :P_

_ hewhodespisesart: Didn't want to put you under additional pressure, I guess? When people are asked for truth, they are more tempted to lie. It's like a defense mechanism going off. But also? I didn't really think you would lie._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Bold of you to assume that :) So, what you're saying is that the actual dare is enough of a pressure? Did I get that right?_

The lightness of the tone helps him keep himself grounded despite the intensifying tension in his chest.

_ hewhodespisesart: Well, that's for you to decide. No pressure on my part._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Don't be so sure about that. I'm a very demanding… what are we going to call it, by the way? A collaboration? A partnership?_

_ hewhodespisesart: No, these are all boring. How about… a quest for inspiration? :)_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I suppose I should now come up with an alternative option based on YOUR version of nickname?_

_ hewhodespisesart: ?_

_ hewhodespisesart: Well, I should probably admit… my problem kind of coincides with yours. Hence the nickname and other unfortunate consequences._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Something even MORE unfortunate than that nickname?_

_ hewhodespisesart: I'd say 'shut up', but you're not talking anyway, so I will just answer with this…_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: yeah?_

_ hewhodespisesart: …_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: What's that supposed to mean?_

_ hewhodespisesart: …_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Stop that! It's even more annoying than being told to shut up._

_ hewhodespisesart: These are blank messages, obviously. And you're supposed to fill the blanks._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: If I liked talking to myself, would I even be here?_

_ hewhodespisesart: So who DO you like talking to?_

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: …_

_ hewhodespisesart: Don't pick up my bad habit._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Yeah, I think we got seriously distracted. A quest for inspiration, was it? Should we draw a memo?_

_ hewhodespisesart: Yeah, rule one: don't call it a memo. Takes all creativity out of it._

_ temporarilyoutofinspiration: So? I'm waiting for your genius ideas.__ hewhodespisesart: Rule two: no sarcasm.__ temporarilyoutofinspiration: I thought we were done with the memo idea.__ hewhodespisesart: We are, but we still need some rules, don't we?__ temporarilyoutofinspiration: Well, seeing as I'm the one being challenged, I think it's only fair that I come up with the rules.__ hewhodespisesart: Hm, I think you kind of lost a bit of reasoning on the way to that conclusion. Seeing as it's ME who provides the challenge..._

Kili doesn't really want to come up with these rules on his own. But it's been a long time since he was able to bicker with someone in sport, with no underlying tension and hidden agendas, so the mere thought of missing that opportunity feels like a crime. He has no idea where this is going or what the end result will be, but the sound of clinking keyboard under his fingers is a definition of relaxation and no question can be more important than that.


End file.
